


Lost Sentiments

by Winterlesshawk



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: EXCITING, Hate at First Sight, M/M, eventual winterhawk, i dont know yet, just seeing where this takes me, might be angsty, prompted, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlesshawk/pseuds/Winterlesshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D Nick Fury has been desperately trying to pick up the pieces of the former organisation and end HYDRA once and for all. After much convincing he’s managed to recruit a handful of agents to help him with S.H.I.E.L.D’s rebirth. One of these agents is Avenger and former member of Strike Team Delta, ‘Clint Barton’ better known as ‘Hawkeye.’ Another is former Howling Commando and HYDRA asset, ‘James Barnes’ aka ‘The Winter Soldier.’ Fury sends the two on a black bag job to infiltrate and obtain information from former S.H.I.E.L.D agent Brock Rumlow however, things go sour quick and the two snipers find themselves without means of communication and neck deep in enemy territory. If what they found from Rumlow’s documents is true then the clock is ticking and the agents are on a tight time schedule. But can they survive long enough to pass the information on or will they end up killing each other in the process?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eventual ‘Winterhawk.’ Loosely based on the prompt ‘hate at first sight’ but more depthy. The characters in this particular story are a combination of the cinematic universe portrayals, the comics and also my own take. Also the first chapter is fairly short but they'll lengthen out in time. Consider this a taster.

“It takes the piss,” Clint murmurs as he stuffs a handful of shirts into his rucksack.

“I think you’re really over exaggerating,” Natasha says bluntly. Her expression is bored and she’s picking at her nails in a manner that suggests she’s fed up of the topic of the conversation.

“Nat, C’mon though,” Clint stops what he’s doing “me and Bucky have literally never got on. It’s not that we hate each other it’s just that we’re too-“

“Similar?” Natasha raises her eyebrows and smirks at the archer.

“Different.” Clint scowls.

Natasha snorts and continues digging under her nails absentmindedly. Clint just sighs in defeat and continues packing, He always manages to over pack but one can never be too prepared.

“You know…” Natasha pauses and waits for Clint to look at her, which he does after folding away an impressive collection of knives and slotting them into a side pocket on the bag. “He’s really not that bad. If you both made the effort to actually talk to each other and spend time together you’d probably get on really well.” She’s smirking again.

Clint curls his fist tighter around the strap of the rucksack and his knuckles fade to white. “We have spent time together; between us we nearly killed the peace ambassador from Russia.”

Natasha’s smirk turns into a somewhat manic smile.

“How on earth did you manage that?!” She says with a chuckle.

“We got into a small argument and Bucky caught my quiver, he changed my grappling arrow base to an explosive one. Later that day when we tried to cross over the heads of the important people we actually ended up sending a small explosion flying over the head of the Russian, luckily no-one was hurt but the building didn’t fare so well.”

Natasha grimaced at her friend’s luck before standing up promptly and approaching the agent. She thumped his back lightly before leaning over his shoulder and whispering in his ear.

“You’re better matched than you think.”

Clint pushes Natasha back and huffs. He’s not at all happy about having to pair with Bucky on such an important mission, in fact, he’s not happy about the mission whatsoever. He’d much rather stay at home eating pizza and watching re-runs of friends, who needs responsibilities?

“Your ride is gonna be here in a couple of hours and you haven’t even packed your toiletries.” Clint could hear the smile in Natasha’s usually emotionless voice.

“Why the everloving fuck do we have to drive to Vancouver?! That literally makes no sense.” The archer’s voice is somewhat distressed and annoyance is plain on his face.

“Okay, Clint. The last time you flew the quinjet near a mountain range you literally nosedived because ‘the ride was too boring’ that’s why you’re driving, not flying.” Clint chuckles at the memory before turning to look at his best friend.

“We all need a bit of excitement once in a while Tash.”

Natasha sighs before meeting her partner’s intense gaze.

“Be careful out there. I need you back in one piece.”Clint smiles, a warm and comforting smile. He doesn’t throw this particular smile out for anyone. It’s the trademark of a bond that has been in making for years.

“Yes Ma’am.” He raises his fingers to his head in a sadistic salute, this earns him a smack round the head from the other agent.

“You do that every time,” Natasha says.

“I’m trying to convey my respect for you.” Clint chuckles. He knows how much Natasha hates it when he salutes at her, she perceives her and Clint as ‘on par’ so when Clint throws something as ludicrous as a salute her way, she finds herself seething. The man has the self-esteem of a potato and it drives her insane. Every time he leaves for a new mission, especially one like this where extraction is not an option, she’s afraid he might not return; he forever puts himself in harm’s way without a second thought.

“Anyway,” she smiles back at Clint. “I’ll see you in a week or so.”

Clint nods and turns to continue packing. He’s got a lot to get through, Fury hasn’t assigned them cover for this particular mission because it’s more about infiltrating Rumlow’s personal computer and accessing any information he has on the locations of HYDRA bases, the ‘brains’ of the operations, weapon stashes and future movements. S.H.I.E.L.D needs as much intel on HYDRA’s plans as possible and Rumlow is definitely going to have at least some of that information.

“First aid, standard M&P, I.D, Clean clothes, PJ’s, Money…” Clint sighs before once again turning away from the bag and crossing the room. He opens up his S.H.I.E.L.D issued locker and gently pulls out his bow from its resting notch and his case containing his arrows. The archer smiles fondly running a hand across the outside of the case.

“Am I interrupting something?” Clint can’t retain the jump that shocks his body. He cocks his head slightly and stood in the doorway is no other than Mr James Barnes himself. Considering his rather intimidating metal arm which gleams even brighter under the horrific hanging lights Barnes actually looks fairly… Normal. He’s wearing a dark green tank top paired with a blue and white flannel shirt which hangs loose at his shoulders because the sleeves are bunched up at his biceps, his dark and usually untameable hair is tied back in what, from this angle, appears to be a bun. And his look is completed by some standard dark blue jeans and some pretty beat up looking sneaks.

“You know Vancouver is cold this time of year, right?” There is a smirk playing on Clint’s lips as he once overs the other sniper. Bucky furrows his brows into a tight frown and crosses his arms across his chest in a somewhat, defensive position.

“I have a jacket in my bag. I think the cold is the least of our worries.” Bucky claims as he mimics Clint and picks apart the archer’s choice of clothing.

“Looks like we’ve both had the same idea, change when we get to the motel.” Clint is unimpressed that Barnes is picking out his faults, I mean, he clearly hasn’t looked in a mirror today. A flannel shirt is hardly protection from Vancouver’s bitter winds.

“Have you not even finished packing yet?! We still need to go to the briefing.” Bucky peers down at his ‘imaginary watch’ in a rushed manner.

“Don’t rush me. I’ll forget something.” Clint huffs before returning to his bag.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any TYPOS, it's late and I'm knackered. Anywho, thanks for the feedback so far and be sure to follow me on tumblr @ winterlessdawn for more fic updates.   
> Thank you again,  
> Misty.

“What car should we take?” Clint asks as his fingers dance across the access panel that opens the door to the garage.

“One that works.” Bucky states. His voice is cold and hardy, briefing had left the two snipers feeling even worse about the days ahead of them.

“You’re a barrel of laughs aren’t you Barnes?” Clint’s voice carries a somewhat humorous tone but the sarcasm is definitely there. Clint usually masks his distaste with humour but honestly, there’s no point in hiding his utter distaste and unsatisfaction with the mission he’s been assigned, he flat out hates it and everyone who is anyone, knows it; Bucky included.

The sleek metal doors slide open with a light creaking sound, one Clint is all too familiar with. The inside of the garage flickers to life as the two enter. This particular garage houses not only S.H.I.E.L.D assigned vehicles but also a few from Tony’s personal collection, Steve’s replica motorbike and a few of Clint’s own vehicles; his own motorbike also included.

A grin is now set on Clint’s face as his eyes scan the contents of the garage.

“So, which one?” Clint turns to face Bucky, the sniper’s expression is sort of disdained.

“I honestly, do not care,” Bucky says flatly as he pulls his bag straps further up his shoulders.

“Right… That’s helpful,” Clint says bitterly. The archer pulls the zip up a little further on his dull grey hoodie to conceal the skin his t-shirt doesn’t. He then proceeds to re-adjust his leather jacket so that the bag sits more comfortably against his back and then he moves towards the array of cars.

“Personally I think the Toyota Land Cruiser. It’s a damn good car with brilliant suspension, nice handling and a pretty face,” Clint states with a smirk, he extends his arm to gesture towards a shiny but rather chunky silver car; the windows are of course tinted.

When the archer doesn’t get a response he peers over his shoulder at Bucky who appears to be fixated by a red 1940’s Hudson Sedan.

“Or do you wanna take the Sedan? Which, by the way, may as well run on steam.” Clint surveys the other agent, his face is contorted in a somewhat, pessimistic expression. Bucky breaks his hold and meets Clint’s gaze and when he does he shakes his head in an adamant no.

“I saw a car like that at a show once, just brings back some fond memories is all.” There is obviously a story behind the statement but Clint isn’t hanging around with Bucky to play 20 questions, he’s here for a mission and the sooner they pick a damn car, the closer the mission is to being over. Then Clint can go back to lounging around The Avengers tower all day terrorizing it’s residents and laying on the couch eating pizza.

“So you’re good with the Toyota?”

Bucky nods and regains his posture, his mind wondered and for a split second his walls crumbled but he can’t let little things like a rusty old car get to him, he’s still trying to prove himself to S.H.I.E.L.D so crying over something as pathetic as a car would definitely compromise his future with the organisation.

“Let’s get a wriggle on then,” Clint says flashing a toothy smile at Bucky. And with that they move across the room and scramble into the spacious car and as they do Bucky notes the ‘new’ smell in the car. It smells like brand new carpets and those freshly made leather satchels that he’d seen being sold at the market, you know the ones, the ones that smell like a freshly slaughtered cow.

Bucky struggles to fit his backpack into the foot space so after a couple of relentless attempts he follows Clint’s lead and ends up chucking the bag between the two seats and into the back of the car. He then pulls the seatbelt across his chest and pushes it into its plug and as he does Clint twists the keys in the ignition and with a low roaring sound the car comes to life. In front of Bucky the dashboard becomes bright with blues and whites and for a second it dazes the sniper, he’s still not quite used to today’s technology so seeing so much applied to just a car, really astounds him.

“You ready?” Clint asks as he begins to put the car into drive.

“Not really,” Bucky grimaces.

“Nice to hear you’re optimistic.”

~*~

It’s pushing 4 O’clock by the time the two agents pull over for their first pit stop. Clint has chosen a sort of Service Park that has a McDonalds, A Starbucks, A motel and a gas station and much to Clint’s dismay, no pizza joints.

“Right, here’s the deal,” the archer says firmly as he powers down the car “You go to Mcdonalds and you get me a big mac with large fries and a small cheeseburger, and you get yourself whatever. Then you go to starbucks and you get me a large black coffee, nothing fancy, just a black coffee. Whilst you’re doing that I’ll go check in at the motel. I’ll meet you in the lobby in around twenty minutes. Is that cool?”

Bucky can feel anger bubbling in his chest, why does Clint have to be so goddamn bossy, he could have just asked.

“Sure, whatever. You’re not taking my bag though.”

Clint frowns and crosses his arms, his brows cast a shadow across his face so that his eyes glisten intently through the darkness.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Bucky lets a bitter laugh pass through his lips and he raises his hands in a gesture of ‘surrender.’

“Damnit Barton, you’re too quick minded for me, however did you guess?” The snipers voice is just laced with sarcasm and his lips are pulled into a smirk. Clint is quick to raise his middle fingers and wave them in front of Bucky’s face.

“Well, fuck you then.” And with that the archer pulls the key from the ignition, reaches over and hauls his bag across to the front and then steps out the car. Before closing the door however, he leans down and peaks at Bucky.

“Remember, big mac with fries and a cheeseburger.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and sighs and Clint responds to this gesture by flashing another signature toothy smile. And then Clint slams the door and begins to walk towards the motel, through the window Bucky can see him walking across the parking lot, everything about the archer screams ‘smug’ from the way he walks to the way he runs his fingers through his thick caramel hair. Bucky doesn’t hate the man; he thoroughly dislikes him.

Bucky reaches into the backseat and hauls his rucksack over the chairs and onto his lap. His mind once more begins to wonder and this time he’s thinking about the first time he met Clint Barton. It was around six months ago, Steve was doing a tour of The Avengers tower and he had taken him into the gym and love and behold, there was Clint Barton, not working out, oh no, he was using an exercise ball as a dodgeball and was trying to hit Pietro with it as he ran circles around the man. Clint didn’t introduce himself he just threw the pair a cocky smile before hitting Pietro, face on, with the ball.

Bucky shook his head at the memory and started to clamber out of the car, rucksack in hand.

Clint, meanwhile, was waiting at the desk in the motel observing a couple arguing over some coffee that the man had spilled down the woman’s lovely white vest. He peered over his shoulder and through the glass doors he could see Bucky walking towards McDonalds, since getting here Barnes had rolled down his sleeves and put on gloves to conceal his metal arm.

“Sir, can I help?”

Clint abruptly turned and put his best ‘I’m a polite man’ smile into action. He moved towards the desk and let a heavy sigh pass through his lips.

“Wow, what a journey. Driving for eight hours straight sucks!” The woman behind the desk tried to smile but Clint could tell that she really didn’t give a shit.

“I was just wondering if you have a room for two available, preferably with two single beds? See, I’m travelling with my wife’s cousin and honestly, I barely even know this guy so sharing a bed would be,” Clint shakes his head to try and emphasise his covers feelings. “Awful!”

The woman just chews her cheek and throws Clint a very bored look.

“Lemme’ check for you sir.” Her fingers begin to move swiftly across the keyboard and her eyes trace across her computer screen. Clint looks on, intrigued to hear the result.

“Okay, we have one room with one bed, one sofa bed and a bathroom. Is that okay?” She peers up at Clint inquisitively. Externally Clint responds with a warm smile but his mind is going berserk.

Sofa beds suck.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: Winterlessdawn.  
> Thanks again for reading and remember, I would love to hear your feedback, suggestions and constructive criticism. This chapter is lengthier. Enjoy.

Clint opens the grimy door to the motel room with a very disgusted look on his face, and this only worsens when the archer is hit by a wall of smells. To him, it smells like damp and shit but from beside him Bucky voices a disgust for the smell of ‘bleach trying to mask the smell of shit.’

Clint winces as he enters the room. The shabby yellow wallpaper is peeling off the wall and the only bed in the room besides the sofa have sheets which carry yellow stains.

“Well… This is pleasant,” Clint says woefully.

Bucky doesn’t even respond he just huffs and pushes past the archer before heading further into the room, he spins 360 degrees, observing his surroundings, after doing so he stops and meets Clint’s gaze.

“Suppose it could be worse,” Bucky reaches up to scratch at his hairline. “Do you want the sofa bed or the bed?”

Clint slides his bag off of his shoulders and throws it down on the floor, he then follows suit by closing the door and placing the carrier bag of food he’s holding on the ground beside his rucksack.

“I don’t mind taking the sofa bed,” he says as he begins to rummage through the plastic bag full of food.

“Clint, it’s literally growing mould. I don’t mind taking it-“

“Have you got my coffee?” the archer looks up at the sniper for a brief second before noticing the drinks holder Bucky has and returning to his foraging.

“Barton, I don’t mind-“

“Shut up Barnes and relax, we’ve got a hell of a journey tomorrow,” Clint snaps.

“Fuck me, you’re a stubborn man.” Bucky’s voice is once again blunt and icy. He’s rather annoyed about the fact that Clint doesn’t let him make any decisions already!  And they’re not even on the goddamned mission yet!

Bucky crosses the room and places the drinks on the bedside cabinet before heading towards Clint. The archer on the other hand, is stuffing his face with fries whilst digging through the bag.

“Barnes,” he says through a mouthful of chewed up potato. “Did you only order a double cheeseburger?” He peers up at the other man, a questioning and somewhat amused expression etched onto his features.

“Yes. Why? Is that a problem?” Bucky crosses his arms across his chest and frowns at the other man who is crouched down at his feet.

In response to Bucky, Clint laughs so hard that he almost chokes on the chewed up contents that bounces around on the inside of his mouth. He wheezes slightly before once again meeting the man’s gaze, his eyes glisten with tears.

“So you’re telling me, that a guy as well built as you, who hasn’t eaten for 8 hours, has only ordered a double cheeseburger?”

Bucky sneers at Clint before reaching down and snatching his food out of the bag, he doesn’t give the archer the satisfaction and instead turns his back before throwing himself on the bed, which groans at the sudden weight increase.

Bucky unwraps his burger and allows himself to inhale its scent, ah the sweet smell of a heart attack waiting to happen. The sniper takes a bite into the soggy bun of the burger and relishes in the feeling of melted cheese smothering his taste buds and the pepperiness the beef brings, it burns the back of his throat, an assault on his senses. As he chomps away at his food Bucky begins to look around the apartment. It’s a very dodgy looking place with nicotine yellow wallpaper that peels at every corner, rugged brown carpet which looks like it could have been white in another life, a small cream sofa tucked in the corner which is literally mouldy, a rotting wooden door which Bucky assumes leads to the bathroom and a small window which has several cracks running across it’s pane. They couldn’t have picked a nastier place if they tried.

Clint has emptied the carrier bag and is now sat cross legged on the floor stuffing his face. His eyes are closed and despite his chomping there is a smile pulling at his mouth, he’s in his element. There is three things Clint loves, food, sleep and archery. And there is nothing better than a fat ‘ol burger after eight hours of being on the road.

The room has fallen silent, occasionally Clint will cough but apart from that the only thing that can be heard are the distant noises of cars whizzing down the highway.

The archer clears his throat whilst crunching the food packaging into tiny balls, he then proceeds to throw them across the room into a small bin that sits beside the bathroom door.

“So…” Clint drags himself onto his hands and knees and crawls across the floor towards the bed. Upon reaching his destination he reaches up and grabs his coffee from the bedside Cabinet, Bucky doesn’t even give him a second look.

“What’s the plan?” Clint says. The archer is toying with his cup and spinning the wooden spoon round to create a miniature whirlpool that he, of course, find’s fascinating.

Bucky swallows his mouthful of food and takes a sip of his drink before glaring down at the other man.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Clint looks up, his brows furrow together into a confused expression.

“What have I done now?” His voice goes up an octave as his volume escalates.

Bucky laughs bitterly and pushes his remaining food off of his lap. He claps his hands together and rubs them down his jeans trying to rid them of grease.

“Well, you seem to know everything,” Bucky intensifies his glare, narrowing his eyes. “So you tell me.”

Clint’s smile is wiped from his face and his eyes go dark. In the blink of an eye he is up from the carpet and grabbing at Bucky. The sniper’s metal hand clamps around Clint’s wrist, the archer quickly responds by twisting his wrist around and pushing his elbow back abruptly, Bucky’s hand slips and suddenly he’s standing too, pulled up by Clint’s breakaway move. This time it’s Bucky who initiates the conflict. His metal arm clicks and whirs as he brings his elbow out in front of him and pushes it at Clint’s chest, before he can wind him Clint drops to the ground and hooks his foot behind Bucky’s leg, ready to floor him. The sniper see’s the opportunity and throws Clint off, he brings the opposing knee forward and with all his strength, knees the other man straight in the face sending him toppling back.

Clint, reeling, groans and grasps his nose. Even from where he’s standing Bucky can see crimson droplets sliding from between the man’s calloused hands and hitting the carpet. Bucky sighs and crouches down in front of the agent.

“Fucking hell Barnes.” Clint groans, his voice is sheltered behind his hands.

“Sorry but you should know better than to do that,” Bucky reaches out and pulls Clint’s hands away from his face. Blood is smeared across his tanned cheeks and the bruises are already starting to rise on the bridge of his nose. Bucky notes how much the man’s eyes are watering and as much as he hates to admit it, he feels bad; Right now, in this moment, Clint looks vulnerable. It’s rare he ever get’s to see the archer in a position like this, every time the man is injured during a mission he hobbles off to the nearest bathroom to sort himself out or during missions with The Avengers, he picks his sorry ass off of the floor and carries on; he even carried on the time he ruptured his spleen.

“Well, I think it’s broken.” Bucky offers.

Clint laughs, the other man isn’t sure if it’s a bitter laugh or an amused one.

“No shit Barnes, thank you for that very helpful evaluation.” The archer’s voice is muffled through the clotting in his nose. Clint pulls himself up, his head cocked back, and starts towards the bathroom.

“Did you want a hand?” Bucky suggests, his tone is void of the rage that had been cursing through his veins only moments ago and instead, is replaced by melancholy and guilt.

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Clint says as he pulls the door to the bathroom open, the door protests to this and let’s out a loud squeak.

Once in the bathroom Clint scans the room, surprisingly it’s nicer than the main one. On the sink sits a small dish of dried flowers giving the room a rose-like scent, the pan of the sink is gleaming white and from what Clint can see, there isn’t any mould in sight.

He leans across the basin of the sink and allows his nose to start dripping freely. He reaches out to grab the tap handles only to realise he can’t, his hands are coated in blood which is also running down his arms.

“Barnes?” He shouts, his voice sounds deeper and dull, a side effect of having his nostrils full of blood.

The archer hears Bucky coming before he see’s him. The other man’s footsteps are loud and almost clumsy, a stark contrast to how he acts in the field.

“Yep?” The sniper says from behind Clint.

“Cm’ here and turn on the taps for me.”

Bucky, reaching out and grasping Clint’s shoulders, manoeuvres himself around the agent. He squeezes in beside him and flicks the taps on with ease, the taps falter before exuding fairly warm water, which surprises both men.

“Thanks,” Clint says, he begins to vigorously wash his hands, the water running red. Bucky watches, he finds it fascinating to watch how fast Clint removes the blood, it takes him at least ten minutes to get the stuff off of his hands but for the archer, it comes naturally.

“Clint?”

The other man peers up, crimson still cemented around his nostrils, Cupid’s bow and lips.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s voice is sincere and has flattened out, he holds their gaze and the atmosphere changes, and it becomes heavy. A small smile, one that Bucky has seen at least four times today, starts to dance across Clint’s face.

“Its fine Barnes, get your head out of your ass.” The arches voice is dripping with cockiness and Bucky once again finds himself unimpressed with the other man’s odd sense of humour.

“I don’t get you Clint Barton.”

Clint smirks, blood caking his lips.

“Not many people do.”

~*~

Clint groans, the obnoxious beeping stirring him from his slumber. He cracks his eyes open slightly and can only let another groan slip out. Everything aches, his back, his arms, his face and now apparently, his head too.

“What the hell sort of alarm is that?!” He says into his pillow, the smell of damp stings his nostrils and Clint recoils, forgetting how much his entire being aches.

“One that gets you up,” Bucky says from across the room. Clint hears the bed creak and then the beeping is cut off, mid ascent.

“Fucking hell,” The archer says as he rolls onto his side, he reaches up to rub at his face but thinks twice, he’s caught a broken nose too many times in the ignorance of his morning routine and it’s never a pleasant experience.

He jumps slightly when he catches Bucky walking ahead of him into the bathroom, the man is in sweatpants and a shirt and is dragging his bag across the floor.

“You a morning person then?” Clint asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Bucky turns and flashes the agent an amused expression, his eyes are barely open, his hair reaching across his face casting dark shadows.

“Be serious,” His voice, similarly to Clint’s is gravelly and thick. Clint chuckles and thinks back to Natasha, okay, so they share a hatred for early mornings, doesn’t mean they’re likely to become best friends any time soon, especially after yesterday’s fiasco.

Bucky, notes in the mirror as he stands in the bathroom brushing his teeth, that Clint has managed to get up, is sitting on the sofa, and is now pulling his shoes on.

“Where are you going?” Bucky asks as he catches the man’s reflection in the mirror. The archer, after much struggle, pulls his shirt on and looks up, a yawn stretching across his features and Bucky watches as he grimaces and cups his nose briefly.

 “To get coffee.”

Before Bucky can respond he is alone in the apartment. Clint, gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Fast paced. That’s the only way to describe the morning, well, too fast paced for Clint anyway. After coming back, coffee’s in hand, he’d discovered Bucky had already packed everything up, made the bed’s and was sat in the same outfit he’d donned the previous day. Clint wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, it was only 5am, and even the sun wasn’t even awake yet so why the hell is James Barnes ?

“Only bring one change of clothes?” Clint, from behind his coffee, points his finger at the other man’s flannel shirt.

“No. I bought three, four including my field gear,” Bucky swiftly picks his bag up and chucks it onto his back. “But I like to save my comfier clothes for the journey home.” He approaches Clint and reaches out, unlatching his coffee from the man’s warm hands.

“I haven’t even packed up yet,” Clint says, sleep is evident in his voice, it still carries a gravelly tone.

“Then you better hurry up, I’ll meet you in the car.” And just like that, Bucky was out of the door, leaving Barton stood in the centre of the room in the darkness of the morning looking like a stray dog, all tatty and barely alive.

~*~

The sun was rising, the highway was busy but less so than usual, an array of oranges, blues and red’s painted the sky ahead of them and it made the road seem less… intimidating. Bucky peers across the dashboard, hypnotised by the colours smeared across the sky, he’s learnt to appreciate these sort of things. See, before he never really took notice of minute details such as sunrises or landscapes, it seemed mundane for him to do so however, these days, he finds himself bathing in the glory the minute details bring; the warmth, the calming sensations, the quiet.

Well, normally it would be quiet, but in this particular situation he has a grumpy assassin sat next to him perpetually talking about how bad his morning coffee had been and how _even his dog could make a better coffee than the ‘pile of horse shit’ he’d paid for._

“Do you ever stop talking?” Bucky huffs, he rests his elbow on the window edge and peers through the pane at the world flashing by.

“God Barnes, has something crawled up your ass and died!?” Clint groans in irritation.

“Yeah, my patience and composure.” Bucky mumbles through his hands, the tone of his voice matches the archers.

Clint doesn’t respond he just sighs. His body slumps more in the chair, what can a guy do? He’s gonna be in this car for at least another twelve hours and he can’t even utter a damn word.

“Look, how about you catch some sleep?” The archer turns to look at Bucky whose back is still facing him, but he can see the reflection in the window and he’s sees Bucky’s gaze shift.

“I just slept thanks.” He mutters, Clint groans again.

“Just try and get some fucking sleep before I end up suffocating you.”

“How are you gonna do that? You’re driving, remember?”

Clint rolls his eyes and grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white.

“I have many hidden talents you don’t know about Barnes.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes. His gaze swivels back to the world passing by from behind the window, they’re on the 1-75 and all that surrounds them is fields; Fields that are saturated with early morning dew, the dawning sun gleaming off of them casting a beautiful and picturesque image. A sigh passes through the snipers lips, if he was someone, anyone else, he would go sit on the breast of a hill smothered in blankets and watch the rising sun. But unfortunately he doesn’t get to experience those sort of situations much anymore, he doesn’t get the time, or the privacy.

Things have changed a lot for Bucky since returning, he finds himself overwhelmed often by not only the way society has changed but also beauty. Prior to the war, he never appreciated beauty at all, he didn’t really care much for it, but these days he finds himself watching everything, studying every aspect in detail.

He cocks his head to look at Clint, his messy hair is casting a shadow across his features, and his eyes are intense and narrowed in determination as he looks out at the winding road. Clint, in his own way, is beautiful. His very much human body is the image of physical strength, his arms solid and sculptured from underneath his grey t-shirt and his features mirror his past, he has slight crinkles that sit on the edge of his eyes, blue shadows fall from his eyelashes and his frown lines are more or less always there. But, this makes him look somewhat timeless; aged but graceful.

Clint has obviously noticed the snipers observations because he briefly looks away from the road, his grey eyes swimming with the light of the morning, his mouth pulls into a smirk causing the crinkles to tug at his lids.

“You making heart eyes there Barnes?” He scoffs, his eyes flickering back and forth between the road and Bucky.

Bucky laughs bitterly and turns away from Clint hoping the other man doesn’t see the slight tint on his cheeks. He hates being caught off guard.

Clint, meanwhile, reaches across to flick on the radio and at first all that comes through is static and some inaudible voices.

“Typical,” he huffs. Its 2015, you would have thought the radio would at least be able to pick up some signals.

The archer continues to fiddle with the dials, twisting and turning them in an effort to tune into something.

And slowly, very slowly, music starts to leak through the speakers. The soft melody fills the silence that is bouncing around inside the car.

_And I want to be known for my hits, not just my misses_

 

A melancholy smile starts to spread across Clint’s lips, his eyes darken and his gaze hardens.

_And besides my reputation's on the line_

_We can fake it for the airwaves_

_Force our smiles, baby, half dead_

The edge of Clint’s vision is blue, his insides are flipping and suddenly the inner turmoil is tearing him apart. He can hear the whispers of the lives he took, he can hear the manic cackling prancing around in the darkest folds of his mind. His body feels like ice, his mind permanently frozen. He struggles to maintain his composure and swallows thickly through the pain of his past.

_Please put the doctor on the phone cause I'm not making any sense_

_Blame everyone but me for this mess_

Clint leans forward, his hand trembling slightly, he reaches the dial and quickly pushes it in; silence splits through the air. From beside him the archer hears Bucky shift slightly.

“I was actually enjoying that, I don’t really hear much music these days,” his voice was bitter but had a somewhat sad edge to it.

“Then find another station because that song is shit,” Barton swallows, his peripheral vision still leaking with saturated tints of blues and whites. His chest feels hollow and his head is spinning.

“Barton?”

Clint reluctantly turns to look at Bucky who is staring right through the archer’s skull, he shudders slightly feeling increasingly uncomfortable under the snipers glare.

“… Never mind.” Bucky huffs before breaking their hold and leaning forward, resting his elbows on the dash.

Relief washes over Clint, it’s not often he’s triggered by something but typically it had to be when he’s sharing a car with the former ‘Winter Soldier’ who, by the way, can spot someone having a mental breakdown from half a mile away, he’s like an angsty sniffer dog. One time the team had been sat round watching The Notebook and Clint had noticed Bucky was watching Tony intently, which was weird considering the two weren’t exactly best buddies, then suddenly, within the next twenty minutes, Tony was throwing himself off of the sofa, his entire body trembling and his breathing ragged. Steve had been the first one at the billionaire’s side, closely followed by Bruce. Clint, whilst running to grab some damp flannels caught sight of Bucky, the man’s eyes were firmly locked on the film; it’s like he didn’t even care.

Clint’s eyes flickered to Bucky, he was staring out across the road, the early light sending shadows dancing across his already dark features. The archer wasn’t afraid of him because he was an assassin and probably knew how to kill Clint with a piece of cello tape, nope, he was afraid of him because he had experienced things Clint had; he could tear him apart from the inside out.

~*~

They arrived at the motel in Vancouver at a little past 11pm. The two had hardly spoken all day but it was clear from their posture that they were mentally worded out, despite the fact that they really hadn’t spoken that much.

This motel room, contrasting the other, was painted a deep shade of plum and the room contains several pieces of oak furniture, each in mint condition. The room was warm and welcoming, it smelled like cinnamon and clean towels. Both sets of bed’s were made up with crimson sheets, little origami swans sat at the foot of the bed, alongside chocolates and little welcoming notes.

“Well, this is certainly a level up,” Clint unzips his boots and throws them across the room, wiggling his toes to release the tension that had built up in his feet over the course of the drive here. “Perks of being a S.H.I.E.L.D agent.” He states contently.

“It’s a bit over the top if you ask me,” Bucky grumbles, he’s stretching his flesh arm, lunging it across his back, his metal fingers holding his elbow in place.

The archer rolls his eyes in frustration and flops back onto one of the bed’s, instantly crushing the origami bird. He peers up at the ceiling, his eyes feel heavy but his mind is on fire, god this mission needs to be over soon.

“So, the plan for tomorrow?” Bucky asks quietly, he’s unpacking his bag, pulling out an array of knives and gadgets.

“We stake out Rumlow’s. We don’t head in until we know he’s not around.” The archer’s voice is tired and fed up, thick with annoyance. _Can’t the plan wait till tomorrow to be discussed?_ He thinkd.

“Fury said that he was out of the country?” Bucky’s voice is tinged with concern and Clint knows he’s peaked his interest.

Barton rolls over onto his side to face the other man, he smirks.

“Fury says alotta’ stuff that most of the time, turns out to be wrong.”

Bucky frowns and palms his face, his fingers massaging his temples in a frustrated manner.

“Well, that’s not reassuring at all.”

“I’m not here to appease you,” Clint states, his mouth returning to a stern line. Bucky glances up to look at the man before pouting and letting a sigh slip past his lips.

“Why couldn’t they have sent me on a mission with someone else? You’re not exactly brilliant company.”

Clint splutters out a laugh before rolling onto his back to once again stare up at the ceiling.

“Oh and you’re a barrel of laughs?”

“At least I didn’t spend the better half of an hour talking about a shitty cup of coffee.” Bucky murmurs, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Clint doesn’t reply he simply gets up off the bed, grabs his bag and heads into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The archer inhales sharply before leaning over to fondle the taps, hot water jets out and the agent twists to look in the mirror. He dumps his bag on the tiled floor and leans forward; he’s inspecting his nose.

Angry red/purple bruises are starting to form underneath Clint’s eyes and his nose is painted an array of colours. He reaches up and gently prods at it before wincing and deciding against inspecting it properly, a broken nose is the least of his worries.

He begins to get undressed, slowly pulling off his leather jacket and grey hoodie; this is followed by his shirt. And as he reaches down to unzip his jeans he hears a loud and unmistakable thump against the wall. Clint’s blood runs cold. Surely Rumlow isn’t onto them already?! They haven’t even left the complex yet.

Clint moves swiftly, his feet slipping and sliding on the shiny tiles, he reaches down into his bag clawing at his M&P. He moves with stealth and grace, his entire body in defence mode, his muscular arms are pushed ahead of him and his body is braced.

One hand briefly leaves the gun before he swings the door open, his whole mindset focused on the mission. But to Clint’s surprised there isn’t any intense fight going on, there aren’t HYDRA agents littering the room, there’s just Bucky. However, said man is pushed against the wall, his body slumped. Barnes’ untameable hair is hanging across his face and even from where he’s standing Clint can see the man’s body rising and falling rapidly with the increased rate of breathing he has adopted. Clint lowers the gun, his body relaxing.

“Barnes?” He says, his voice sounding more relieved than he would like.

“Миссия была скомпрометирована.”   ( _The mission has been compromised_ )

Clint’s stomach drops through the floor, his blood once again running cold. Bucky is speaking in Russian, his voice is ragged and is a stark contrast to what the man had been like only a few minutes ago. It’s then that Clint notices the pocket knife Bucky has pressed in his hand.

“James Barnes?” Clint’s voice is unsteady and uneven.

“Шанс для освобождения прошло.” ( _the chance for liberation has passed_ )

Clint has heard Cap discussing this with Tony. Sometimes, when Bucky panics, he relapses into Russian. Apparently this gets him more worked up as he doesn’t understand what is going on. Clint can certainly sympathise with the guy; he takes slow steps towards him.

“You’re James Buchanan Barnes.” Clint’s voice is still shaky but also soft, his words roll off of his tongue like syrup.

Bucky stops murmuring and looks up, his eyes swimming with tears and suddenly he looks like the most vulnerable creature Clint has ever laid his eyes upon, weirdly enough even his limb made completely of metal adds to the tragic look the man has now obtained.

“Помоги мне.” (Help me)

“Ты в безопасности.” (You’re safe) The words fall from the archer’s lips with unease, they sound almost like rust. Clint had spent months coaxing out Natasha when she first arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D so he had taken it upon himself to learn Russian to help move the process along, occasionally they still have exchanges in the language but it’s quite rare, he hadn’t used it in a long time.

Bucky has fallen silent, his murmurs have halted. The room is now filled with the sound of his uneven breathing.

“Ты в безопасности.” Clint repeats as he moves closer, his hands held up in the air in a gesture of surrender.

Bucky just watches his carefully, his breathing slowly coming down.

“I- I urm.” the sniper starts, his voice is thick and gravelly and Clint can hear the uncertainty in the words he’s saying. He’s unsure if he’s actually speaking in English.

“They don’t happen that often anymore. I’m not sure where that one came from.” Bucky moved his eyes to avoid Clint’s gaze, his eyes set firmly on the wall and the archer can see the embarrassment lighting up his face.

“It’s okay Barnes, it happens to everyone.”

Bucky looks back again, his face is disgruntled.

“Yeah, sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used google translate for the Russian so it could be wrong.  
> Thanks for reading :)


	5. Chapter 5

Clint’s sleep is once again sliced in two by an infernal beeping sound that he can only describe as _Satan trying to crawl out of the depths of hell._

The archer can hear shuffling and decides against getting up, instead burying his head deep into his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. He despises mornings, he hates the way that all your senses are compromised; mouth dry, nose on fire, not being able to see. Basically, waking up is his least favourite part of the day.

“Get up.” Clint wasn’t aware of how close Bucky was until the other man smacked his back through the quilts in an effort to ease him from the bed.

“No,” Clint murmured through the pillow, his entire body was repulsed by the idea of moving from the warm cocoon he found himself in.

Bucky doesn’t respond but Clint can hear him filling up the kettle, the man’s steps are so oddly scuffled and loud in the morning, it’s such a dissimilarity to what he’s like in the field.

“Y’know,” Clint mumbles as he attempts to free his body from the quilts, suddenly aware of the prospect of coffee. “Tash thinks we’re samey.”

“Hmm?”

The archer pulls himself up, every muscle in his body rejecting this idea and leading to his inevitable downfall. He gives up his efforts and instead chooses to roll onto his side so he can see Bucky. The man’s dark hair is already pulled back in his signature ‘messy bun’ and he’s wearing grey tracksuit bottoms with a baggy plain black t-shirt. He’s busying himself with making coffee, his ample hands fiddling with the milk packets.

“I want mine black. No sugar,” Clint says through rubbing his eyes, being careful to accommodate for his nose.

“What do you mean, samey?” The sniper turns to look over his shoulder, he doesn’t look like he’s had much sleep, his skin is pulled tight across his face and his eyes look heavy and sore; they’re accompanied by blue bags.

Clint slowly unravels himself from the sheets and once again endeavours to get up, this time succeeding. He swings his legs over the side of the bed with grace and poise, despite how early it is for him.

“She thinks the reason we don’t get on is because we’re too similar,” He says as he begins to stretch, his shoulder blades coming together with a satisfying _crunch_.

“She might not be wrong,” Bucky says smoothly, his voice evening out.

Clint stops stretching and drops his hands to his lap, a frown appearing on his face.

“You really think so?” He asks through his amusement.

It’s at this point that the kettle starts gurgling and screeching, the noise peaking Clint’s discomfort, he winces before slapping his hands over his ears and scrunching his eyes tightly shut. He can hear Bucky click the kettle off before pouring the water into the mugs, and suddenly Clint’s senses are assaulted by sweet, sweet coffee.

“Yeah I do,” Bucky says almost wistfully, he approaches the archer with the beverage before reaching out and nudging his shoulder slightly, the metal cold and unforgiving on Clint’s bare skin.

“Thanks,” He murmurs, pulling his hands away from his ears and reaching out to fumble with the handle of the mug.

“We’ll be leaving in an hour so I need you as awake as possible,” Bucky states firmly, his entire body clenching with tension.

“Yes sir,” Clint slurs as he absentmindedly breathes in the steam rising from the cup, his entire body already feeling more alive from just the scent.

“We’ll be finding appropriate positions for the stakeout and upon finding them, we’ll grab some food and return to set everything up. Got it?”

Clint just rolls his eyes and shrugs before taking a long sip of his drink, goose bumps curse up and down his body as he allows the hot sensation to flow through his entire being. He smiles, warm and soft, the taste that’s eating away at his tongue, burning it, makes him feel calm and relaxed; the tension drips out of his muscles and his shoulders loosen off, slumping.

“Please don’t tell me you’re getting turned on by a coffee?” Bucky’s voice cuts into the archers thoughts, a frown once again crumples his features.

“No, you just make really good coffee man.”

Bucky is surprised by Clint’s tone, the man sounds emotionally drawn out and tired but seems contented. Maybe he’s genuinely more nonchalant than what the sniper perceives him to be.

“Look,” Clint peers up at Bucky, the other man is leaning against the wall, staring down into his mug his cheeks flushing red.

“Thanks for yesterday evening,” Bucky starts, his voice low and monotone, “I really appreciate it. Steve usually freaks, I mean, he really does try to help but half the time he ends up on his ass with his head in his hands and just waits it out. But then again, he can’t speak Russian.”

“ _I_ can’t speak Russian.”

Bucky looks up, straggles of hair wisp across his face and his brows are furrowed together in a firm frown, his face creased with confusion.

“Could ‘a fooled me,” he says carefully, his gaze once again falling back to the coffee that he is clasping tightly between his hands.

“I genuinely don’t know that much Russian. See, when I first bought Nat in she had to have a translator, she knew English but didn’t want to acknowledge us,” Clint shifts slightly and passes his mug between his hands, his features pulled together with focus, a small smile plays on his lips, “She hated us, she was grateful… but she hated us. Eventually I got fed up of having to speak to her through other people, I learnt some Russian, very basic stuff but stuff that I knew would sound reassuring and it would show her how important she was to me,” he chuckles slightly and runs a hand across his stubbly cheek, “I didn’t know her, I knew of her but she had a beautiful soul and I truly did believe she deserved a chance to prove how truly brilliant she could be under the right people.”

The smile falls from the archer’s lips and he adverts his gaze to the floor, his eyes going dark and his whole posture slouches; all enthusiasm falling away from his body.

“But turns out I just helped her swap The Red Room for HYDRA…. The world can be cruel.”

Bucky sighs through his nose, his shoulders falling slightly and a sympathetic smile creeps onto his features. He had heard about S.H.I.E.L.D, about what it used to stand for. He had heard the stories of the infamous Black Widow and Hawkeye, he feels for them, for both of them. It’s not fun to have the only stable thing in your life ripped away from you.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I helped tear S.H.I.E.L.D down and in the process I tried to kill my best friend.” The sniper hopes this will reassure Clint, not cause any further tension between the two.

Clint looks up from under the shadows being cast across his face and his signature smirk is strung across his mouth, he chuckles lowly before taking another extended sip of his beverage, his eyes closing.

~*~

Just as Clint had expected Rumlow’s home was about as obnoxious as the man himself, he lived in a detached postmodern house with broad windows and sleek grey walls, large steel gates and towering cobble walls were obviously made to intimidate civilians and keep out trespassers but, this was nothing for the two snipers, in fact, you would think a wanted man like Rumlow would at least invest in some curtains, either that or he has some but clearly doesn’t use them.

“Even the fucking door has easy access,” Bucky mumbles his voice thick with uncertainty, “surely this should be harder than it’s going to be.”

The two agents find themselves perched on the roof of a nearby convenience store, the perfect place to not only scope out Rumlow’s, but it also means getting food isn’t too much hassle.

“Who cares, I just wanna eat,” Clint mumbles from beside Bucky, his face creased and frustration rippling through his body.

“Will you just shut up about food for two fucking seconds?!” Bucky snaps.

Clint huffs and reaches up to pull his hood further down his face. The air out here is cold and the wind is bitter and unforgiving, he is currently cursing himself for not bringing a coat, it may not be practical but at least he’d be warmer than he is right now. The archer feels very vulnerable, despite the fact that he has multiple knives and a gun tucked away in his holster, he’s in the field and yet, he has no field gear on. The two need to keep a low profile so they’re both wearing average run of the mill clothes, they both have their ‘stark issued’ bulletproof vests underneath their shirts but other than that they have no protection whatsoever.

“Barnes,” Clint says carefully as he readjusts his gloves.

“What?” The snipers voice is stern and icy, his entire focus is the scope that is curled tightly between his fingers.

“I’m really, _really_ hungry. You promised me food almost three hours ago, you said we’d find a spot, get food and _then_ stake out.”

Bucky growls and throws the scope into the open rucksack beside him, his eyes are narrowed and swimming with impatience.

“I have no idea how anyone gets any work done with you Barton, you’re like a whiney fucking child.” The snipers voice tears through the bitterness of the air and the tension in his body builds causing shudders to slide across his shoulders and down his back.

“Well that’s just plain rude,” Clint hisses, his gaze fixed firmly on Bucky who is now packing up whatever equipment they had sprawled out on the roof.

“But seriously though, all you’ve done is sit here and complain about how hungry you are!”

“It’s because I can’t concentrate on an empty stomach Barnes!” Clint snaps back, frustration evident in his tone of voice.

Bucky just huffs before swiftly zipping up the bag and throwing it onto his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he mumbles before beginning to walk away from the edge. Clint rolls his eyes and sighs before pulling himself off of the cold ground, his shoulders and upper back crunch and groan at the movement, they’ve been locked in the same position for close to three hours and the sudden change sends Clint reeling, his footing unsteady. He staggers across the roof in pursuit of Bucky and soon finds himself at the top of the stairs, his head still spinning slightly.

The two proceed down the easy access stairs in silence, neither saying a word. Upon reaching the bottom however, Bucky turns to Clint, the two almost nose to nose.

“After this, please, for the love of god, stop complaining,” he sounds somewhat exasperated but the anger is definitely still evident.

The archer forces a smile onto his face, it’s more out of bitterness than anything else.

“As long as you stop being a grumpy cat.”

Bucky glares at the other man before placing a hand between his shoulder blades and shoving him roughly in the general direction of the shop. Clint doesn’t bother reacting, he hasn’t got the energy, at the moment all he really cares about is appeasing his stomach.

Upon entering the shop the two find themselves feeling very out of place, the shop is small and enclosed, it’s difficult for the two grown men to navigate the two or three isles without knocking everything off the shelves with their bulky bags and muscly limbs.

Bucky is observing their surroundings, being very careful about who enters and exits the shop. He feels on edge, something about the air outside and the atmosphere in this region is making him feel very open and vulnerable.

Clint is talking away to him but the sniper doesn’t acknowledge him, his eyes are set firmly on the cashier. A young woman with short brown hair that is sticking up at all angles, she is staring off into space, her dark eyes wide; she literally looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Bucky turns to face the archer. Clint is staring at him through narrowed grey eyes, his hands are on his hips and the basket is looped across his lower arm, his nose is speckled with blues and yellows and purples and his cheeks are crimson with the cold hanging in the air.

“You look like your about to ask to see the manager.” the sniper chuckles at the image and shakes his head before lowly laughing again.

Clint doesn’t respond instead he rolls his eyes and reaches out, smacks Bucky’s shoulder and looks up at him, his mouth opens as if to say something but suddenly his gaze adverts to somewhere behind the sniper, his eyes growing wider and his mouth snapping shut. He says nothing before grabbing the sleeve of Bucky’s jacket and dragging him to the end of the aisle where the two are concealed, away from the entrance to the shop.

“What?” Bucky whispers, his voice even. He hadn’t questioned Clint’s actions because A. he didn’t have time. B. he didn’t want to give them away.

“The file on Rumlow, do you remember reading about Sin?” Barton asks quietly, his eyes are trained elsewhere, towards the front of the shop.

Bucky’s blood runs cold and suddenly he feels like his knees are going to buckle and that his legs will give way from underneath him.

“I didn’t really need to read up on her, I knew of her anyways. Schmidt’s daughter, unfortunately she was another person who seemingly ‘followed’ me and Steve to the future.”

Clint grimaces and carefully rubs his hand across his face, a grunt of frustration tumbling from his lips. If she’s here then they’re in trouble, that more than likely means that Rumlow is here too.

“We had her, we had finally caught up to her. Nat had dragged her in one quiet afternoon and the whole place went bat shit crazy. But with S.H.I.E.L.D collapsing I kind of just forget that she existed, I suppose Rumlow probably snuck her out when we were all distracted,” Clint’s voice is low and thick with concern, his face is dark and there’s tension in his fingers, his hand hovering over the space against his chest where he knows his holster is hidden.

Bucky moves forward to accommodate the space between Clint and the aisle back, he peaks around the edge and sees her stood at the counter. She seems ageless, her choppy crimson hair is bunched at her shoulders, and she’s wearing black leather trousers with knee high red boots, a red lacy top with long sleeves, a leather jacket that is unzipped at the wrists and fingerless gloves. She has drastic red and black makeup painting her eyelids and her bright lips are pursed together in a smile.

_“What will it be today Sinthea?”_

_“Some red Luckies please?”_

The cashier reaches behind her and grabs at a pack of ‘Lucky Strike’ cigarettes. “ _I remember those,”_ Bucky thinks. He remembers lighting one up outside of Steve’s house and Steve whispering about how ‘his mum would find out’ and that ‘Bucky would get in trouble.’ They were all the rage back in the 30’s, everyone who was anyone would always have a pack of Lucky Strike’s.

Sin paid before leaving the shop without any further words, she walks with the same elegance and poise that Widow does, she may not be as venomous but her bite still packs a punch.

Clint moves away from the aisle, says nothing and proceeds to the checkout. From what Bucky can tell he doesn’t have much in the basket but it’s clear that the other man has been unnerved and doesn’t want to stick around, Bucky doesn’t blame him.

~*~

“We have to be extra vigilant,” Clint says as he embraces the ladder and begins to climb up the stairs, “I’m in the right mind to phone Fury and say we’re backing out right now, he said that Rumlow wasn’t here, that he was busy at a separate location entirely and yet here we are, coming face to face with one of the biggest names in HYDRA.”

From behind the other man Bucky could see the tension arising in the archer, the way his fingers clutched the edge of the steps a little too tightly, the way his shoulders were drawn back and clenched together.

“Maybe you’re overthinking this, maybe he is in another location and she has to stop by and check up on the place,” he says carefully, as not to piss Clint off.

The other man looks over his shoulder, a scowl firmly set on his face. He throws this warning glance at Bucky before continuing up the steps with a renewed sense of rage.

“Look, Clint, I really do think you’re pondering on this a bit too much. We sat there for hours earlier and never saw any movement inside or outside of that house, it must take at least five minutes to open and get out of those gates and another three or four minutes to walk over here and grab food. If she’d been in that house at the time then we would have seen her before we left for food.

Clint is now on the roof and is reaching through the stairwell gesturing for Bucky to grab his hand so he can help haul him up. Bucky accepts the offer and pushes off with his legs, allowing Clint to pull him up through the small gap.

“I know, I know. But we have to get in there, Sin is bad enough in herself but she has some serious allies and I’m not sure I’m in the mood to get my ass handed to me.”

“That makes two of us,” Bucky murmurs as he pats his knees to rid them of the dirt that had managed to cling to the denim.

“I’m gonna eat, you scope out? Lemme know if you see anything else, okay?” Clint’s hand is burying itself in the plastic bag he has tied to his backpack, it really doesn’t look that full and Bucky isn’t entirely sure of what the two ended up buying.

Bucky moves slowly to the other side of the roof, carefully lowering himself closer to the ground as he gets nearer to the edge. He pulls off his rucksack and plonks it down beside him, his eyes on the street the entire time. Even without the scope he can see Sin, she’s heading towards the house, a phone is pressed to her ear and it looks like she might be shouting given the way her mouth is opening and slamming shut so quickly.

“I’ve got eyes on our friend. I think she’s going to the house.” He thumps his hand lightly on the ground next to him, gesturing for Clint to come and see.

“As suspected,” Clint says across the roof, his voice is hoarse, Bucky doesn’t even have to look to know he has a mouth full of food.

The sniper reaches into the bag, flickering his eyes away from the street for a very brief second, he claws the scope out of the rucksack before flipping it into his metal hand and pressing it to his eye. The effect is immediate, his eye focuses and he can see her, now in full detail, he can decipher some of what she is shouting into her IPhone and he’s not sure he likes it.

“ _Honestly, it’s ridiculous-  
All I’m saying is that we should definitely consider running some final tests! I really don’t want to have to deal with the consequences if you fuck up.”_

The next few lines are hard to make out.

“ _No, you need to listen to me! We cannot afford to start this whole thing over, this has to work otherwise we’re fucked…. No we can’t rob another fucking bank Brock! We’re supposed to be keeping a low fucking profile!”_

As if on cue with what she is saying she lowers her voice and her lip movement’s limit. Bucky can’t tell what she’s saying anymore.

“Well that didn’t sound good,” Clint says through his food, there’s humour there but both of the men can tell the severity of the situation. It baffles the sniper that Clint can lip read from the distance they’re at, Bucky needs a scope to do so but Clint, he’s got some serious skill.

“No, not at all. I think there’s something much bigger going on here.”

“There always is with HYDRA.”

Sin is speaking into a pad that is rooted to the cobble wall, she leans down and peers into it. Looks like a retinal scan is required to actually get through the gates, unsurprising really. The heavy gates begin to slide open and Sin observes her surroundings before entering the premises, determination evident in her stride.

“Are there cameras?”

Bucky does a quick scope, from what he can see there are four, one hidden in the foliage, one on the gates, one above the front door of the home and one further along the cobble wall.

“Four,” Bucky explains to Clint what he can see and the archer scoffs a laugh.

“Easy peasy,” the archer places the sandwich he had been munching on back into its box, “I can take them out from here.”

Bucky’s eyebrows spring up in surprise and he twists slightly to look at the other man, he’s smirking, his gaze is set firm on the house, his fingers twitching as if ready to draw an arrow.

“Are you sure?”

Clint cocks his head to look at the sniper and scoffs again.

“I’m actually rather contused by that question. Of course.”

“Just checking, don’t want a repeat of last time!”

Clint’s demeanour changes and the smirk falls from his lips, replaced by a low glower.

“Hey! That was 100% your fault! You changed my arrow base and nearly killed a room full of very important people!” the archers body shifts against the ground, he’s facing Bucky fully and his body language is screaming ‘pissed off.’

“I wasn’t the one that fired the arrow,” Bucky says softly, he presses the scope back to his eye and ignores the fact that he can quite literally feel Clint’s gaze burning through the sides of his skull.

“If it didn’t give our position away, I would totally be beating the shit out of you right now,” Clint hisses, his scowl still firmly set on the other man.

“Yep, sure you would.”

~*~

Clint coughs through his chest and rubs his hands together, his fingerless gloves don’t give him much protection from the cold air that is now getting thicker and chillier. The two agents have been sat out on the roof for almost five hours now, waiting for Sin to leave the house so that Clint and Bucky can infiltrate. Whilst scoping the two had realised that in fact, it was only Sin in the house, they had been passing the scope between each other and spying her out through the huge glass panes, she had been feeding dogs, dog’s that seemed starved of attention given the fact they wouldn’t stop jumping up at her. Clint had told Bucky that they usually don’t do that unless they’ve been left alone for an extended period of time, like they had appeared to have been.

“There! Got her!” Bucky hisses, his voice leaving his body as nothing more than small puffs of steam, his flesh hand is shaking slightly as he holds the tiny piece of equipment. Clint adverts his gaze to look over at the house, sure enough Sin is leaving, this time she has a large black coat shrouding her small frame and she’s waiting for the gates to open whilst flicking her head back and forth as she observes the world beyond the gate and then suddenly, she’s looking directly at them, Clint is pretty sure their eyes meet and both the snipers flop to the ground, their bodies hitting the solid roof with a loud _thump_.

“What the fuck!?” Clint hisses, his lips blue and trembling from the prolonged exposure to the cold.

“She saw us!” Bucky finishes, his face contorted with confusion.

“Surely she couldn’t have!” Clint whispers, his voice coming uneven with the shattering of his teeth.

“I need to-“

Bucky begins to push up off of the ground with his elbows, rising slowly, his stare set firmly on the edge. Clint reaches across and grabs at the man’s flesh arm, his finger fumbling with the material of his jacket.

“Barnes, don’t!”

Bucky reaches up and bats Clint’s freezing hands away. In this moment he reminds the archer of a cat, his back arched and his entire body poised. These are the moments when he realises that the other man was in fact The Winter Soldier, and that Bucky isn’t a separate man; they’re one person, one person who may have progressed and changed, but one person none the less.

“Barnes, even if you did look over you won’t be able to see her properly without the sco-“

“She’s gone!”

A shiver runs down Clint’s spine and he swallows thickly, arching his back so that he can look over at the street that is mapped out before him. Bucky is right, she isn’t there, in fact, she’s nowhere in sight.

“Fuck,” the archer grunts, he desperately scans the ever darkening street but she’s nowhere, she’s gone.

“Maybe she’s on her way over here to kick our asses,” Bucky suggests, concern heavy in his voice.

“No, she couldn’t have made it over here that fast. She’s definitely done a runner,”

Bucky turns to look at the archer, his eyes narrow and his dark hair falling across his face slightly creating dark shadows across his cheeks and the hollows of his eyes.

“Then we need to move, before she decides to come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry about the fact that I haven't updated in close to a month! My mind has been very sidetracked recently. This chapter was meant to be a lot longer but I decided not to deprive those who do actually read this fic for much longer, I shall hopefully update again soon but in the meantime I will be posting some one shots.  
> Sorry for any TYPOS that may have popped up in this chapter but also thank you for your patience, kind words and Kudos! It's appreciated.  
> Misty.


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